The Interview
by gloomleader
Summary: An elderly Spot Conlon relives his memories while being interviewed by his teenaged neighbor. I'm rewriting this!
1. Prologue

He woke up.

He shuffled around his small apartment making toast, then shrugged on a sweater, pulled a hat over his eyes and swung open the front door. He knew he was old.

But he did not feel it. He walked out on the stoop, sucking in a large breath of crisp air, and admired the bright colors that autumn brings. He had never felt more alive.

He was old yes, but he felt like he could still take on any punk that needed a good thrashing. He smiled to himself. Maybe it was just old memories being played over and over in his dreams, until he woke up almost believing he was in them.

Then he realized his legs were stiff, he was alone in his bedroom, not surrounded by chattering voices. He could no longer jump out of bed and be on the streets before dawn, only having gone to bed close to two. He still got up early, yes. But now he went to bed earlier, and it took longer getting up.

He wasn't working to hold on to any penny he made.

His children visit him often, but even when they weren't at his apartment, shouting, laughing, and making a fuss about what he did and did not eat, he was not alone.

He had his buddies from his youth, always rowdy and always faithful.

He had his wife, who had died a few years ago, her beautiful smile still shining through the wrinkles on her face. The image of the day he had asked her to marry him, and to his surprise, she had said yes.

He had his memories to fill his days. He often thought of writing them down, but no one would have been interested, and he wasn't so good with words.

His morning routine was the same everyday. Walk down to the bakery for coffee, sit and talk to the neighbors about the weather, the latest Mets game or their grandkids. He would walk to the park, admiring the scenery that came with each season.

He would sit on a bench, and sometimes, he would look at the city, not as it appeared today but as the Brooklyn of his childhood. He would think to himself about the old days. He used to own this place; he used to be the best. He smiles to himself. Some would say it was a smirk. His name is Spot Conlon and he used to be the King.


	2. Chapter 1

Soft afternoon sunlight streamed through the window that faced the courtyard. He was making lunch when his doorbell rang. He swung open the door to find a teenage girl. He knew he recognized her from somewhere. Teenage girls didn't often visit him. She looked nervous.

He recognized as the girl from the second floor, but he could not remember her name.

"Hello?"

"Hello Mr. Conlon, I was wondering…" But the screaming of the tea pot on the stove interrupted the young girl as he went to take it off the burner.

"Come in, and call me Spot." He shouted from the kitchen. She looked like he was asking her to jump over a snake pit. But he poked his head around the corner and looked at her. "Come on girl, it's fine." He almost commanded, because some habits don't die, and then went back to making tea. She moved slowly, entering the kitchen like a timid rabbit hops over an open lawn. He motioned for her to sit at the kitchen table. "Want some tea?"

"Oh no Mr. Conlon, thank you."

"Suit yourself, what was it you were wondering?" He sat, and she followed his lead.

"I, well, I have a project for school, and it's to interview someone who's older than seventy, and well my grandfather's in Atlantic City, and I um, was wondering if I could interview you." He pretended to be offended.

"You think I'm over seventy? Do I really look that old?" Her face turned to one of horror. "Oh, I'm just kidding, girlie. I'm ancient. But you can only interview me on one condition."

"Yes?" She almost whispered it, wringing her hands as she waited for his response.

"Call me Spot." He smirked. She thought he was a crabby old man for sure, her mother must have made her ask him.

"Yes Mr. Conlon…er Spot."

"Now, what do you want me to call you?" His days of intimidation were over, he wanted this girl who was clearly petrified of him, to feel a little more comfortable.

"Well, my name is Annabelle, but I like Anna." She smiled a small, nervous smile at him.

He smiled back, reminded of his sister with a name and a smile so similar it was uncanny.

* * *

><p>"Ok Anna, what would you like to know?"<p>

It was sunny that Sunday afternoon, Anna sitting at Spot's kitchen table. She had a large blue notebook out, ready to take notes on his life.

_Oh god his life_. He thought about everything that had happened during his lifetime.

"So the beginning, would you like to start there?"

"Yes, Mr. Con…Spot."

"So you'll be needing my birthday, where I was born, my parents'name, and my real name, because obviously they did not name me Spot? Right?" She nodded silently.

"Well, the real beginning of my story is before I was born." He smiled softly to himself recalling happy memories.

"It was 1880, and my father was seventeen."

* * *

><p>Tommy Conlon had been in America for five minutes. He had already knocked into three old women, five small children, and now this young lady, and all completely by accident. The girl in question was bent over, scrambling to pick up her small pack, her worldly possessions, and they were on the ground because of him.<em> Bomanta, Tommy, bomanta. I am so clumsy. <em>He thought to himself.

"I'm so sorry." He muttered over and over. The girl had beautiful raven hair tied back with a blood red scarf, a small key caught the light as it hung from a ribbon on her neck, he noticed as she slowly looked up at him. Her icy blue eyes looked straight into his soft, summer afternoon sky blue ones. His light hair was all around his face, there were bags under his eyes from the long voyage to New York. He felt self-conscious looking into those eyes, next to her he looked terrible.

"_Alo."_ The beautiful girl didn't speak English. _I can't even apologize correctly. _He handed her the rough coat she had dropped.

"_Multumesc."_ She murmured without breaking eye contact. They both straightened up. He had not lowered his hand after she accepted the coat.

Then she was swept away by the crowd. He stood there, with his arm still raised as if to touch her and make sure she was real. But she was gone.

Something caught his eye, a silver key on a dingy white ribbon. It must have come untied. He quickly picked it up before it was kicked away, and stuffed it in his pocket. Tommy scanned the crowd over and over, finally moving on when the last boat to Brooklyn was departing.

He never forgot her eyes.

"Where was that? Is that your mother? Did they meet at Ellis Island? What does_ bomanta_ mean?" Normally reserved Anna's eyes shone with excitement as she fired more questions at him.

"Slow down kid, it was right after my father got off the boat from Ireland, wait until I tell the rest." He took a quick breath. "And no Ellis Island didn't open 'till 92 and stupid in Gaelic."

"So…."

"Don't rush me, girl." He said jokingly. "Where was I?"

"She got pushed away from him and he never forgot her eyes!" Anna burst.

"Oh yeah, there." He smirked at her impatience, and continued his story.

* * *

><p>Tommy Conlon had been in America ten months, and already had a job at the docks, a few good friends, and if the heave Irish accent was ignored, a Brooklyn one was beginning to take it's place. Sure, he went hungry most nights, but he had a decent job, a decent bed, sharing with four others in a boarding house, and a decent new life in Brooklyn, New York. Far from county Cork.<p>

At night he dreamt of those eyes, those icy blue eyes which had seemed impossibly warm. He didn't even know her name, or if she was still in New York. He did not even know what language she had spoken to him that day. But he wore her key around his neck so it was always with him in case of a miracle, if he met her again, he could give it back.

He woke before dawn on Friday, May 21st, to be exact, because in a long list of things he would never forget in his life, this whole day was one of them. Pulling his hat over his head, and skipping down the stairs, he had whistled a tune he had just learned from his Scottish roommate.

_Her face is the fairest that e'er the sun shone on_

_That e'er e'er the sun shone on and dark blue is her e'e_

He sang softly as he meandered to work, taking his time but he had still arrived early. He had sat on the crate, taking in the salty air, the beautiful morning that showed that spring was finally yielding to summer. He worked in the hot sun all day. Sweat poured off his back, the boss laid into him, but he was still content, because it was just one of those days.

He clocked out at seven after thirteen grueling hours.

"Hey Conlon, come to the diner wit me for dinner." His good buddy Fitz yelled out after him. He really did not have the money tonight but, it was one of those days.

"Sure Fitzy, let's go." He grinned back.

"But first we have to swing by the factory to get my sister, sorry."

"It's fine" Tommy was still feeling upbeat for unforeseen reasons. They made their eay over to the shoe factory to pick up Lilly, Fitz's sister. When they arrived it was almost dusk, and only three girls were left, sitting on the stoop.

"Hey, Lil, let's get going!" Fitz yelled jokingly to his sister, knowing he was the one who was running late.

"Hey, Patrick, shut up!" Lilly motioned for us to come over. One of the girls excused herself and began walking home. But as Tommy laid his eyes on the next girl, a wave of disbelief washed over him, he had seen that raven hair before. _But it couldn't be, it couldn't be her._ Then she looked up.


	3. Chapter 2

"What happened?"

"Then I asked you some questions. I'm not telling ya everything without knowing nothing about you."

"My life isn't very interesting Mr. Conlon." She said almost regretfully.

"In my many years, I've learned that everyone has a story, even teenage girls, besides you've got spunk, asking me to help you with your project. Facing the old guy upstairs is a lot braver than you think." He smiled then.

"You may be old Mr. Conlon, but you don't act like it." She smiled back.

"That's the opposite what people said when I was young, I acted too old." His look clouded for a moment before he regained his previously jovial look. "What's your favorite color kid?"

Purple, or I should really say a lilac color, I guess why?" She did not understand his abrupt changing of the subject.

"Just building a character profile, purple's a good choice, it's the color of royalty." He said gruffly.

"What's yours Spot?" She looked at him, as if to check once more that it was alright calling him that. In response to her uncertainty he grinned and said

"Green, a light bright green, the color of newborn leaves." He paused "But if you asked me another day, I might say sea-foam green."

"Why?"

"Why what"

"Sea foam green or light green?"

"You're getting ahead in the story, that's later on."

"Oh sorry." She said sheepishly.

"So picking up where you left off..."

"About your parents..."

* * *

><p>Tommy Conlon had fallen in love, as if he hadn't been already. Her name was Sophie. She was beautiful and he spent every possible moment with her. So when he finally asked her to marry him, she couldn't wait to say yes.<p>

They were married at St. Nicholas's Parish in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Her mother was weeping at the wedding, not out of happiness, but disappointment that her daughter had married an Irishman. They were lowly Romanians, but she had wanted to have a better life, and this boy was not the ticket she expected.

But Sophie was happy. Sophie was ecstatic. Even when her mother murmured _saraci saraci saraci Sophie_ under her breath as she got ready. She had gotten her mother to agree, only if he had an apartment, a job, and they got married in the church.

Her sister, Alina, soothed her nerves, and straightened the dress she was wearing, a hand-me-down from one of the neighbors. The veil was made from old curtains. Her dark hair was twisted into an elegant bun by her sister's expert handiwork.

She heard the organ start, and took a deep breath.

Her nerves were forgotten when she saw Tommy standing at the altar, in a suit as worn as her dress. How could she be making a mistake, it was the man who had found the key. He had found her, almost a miracle in a city the size of New York. He had returned the key, and his eyes were warm.

He saw her coming down the aisle, and he felt a pressure in his chest, a feeling of pure joy, and smiled softly as she stumbled over her vows.

When he lifted her veil and kissed her, he knew why he fell in love. The girl with the raven hair, and the beautiful eyes was his for keeps.

They had their first child on May 1st, 1883. Which is labor day in Romania. Not a good sign for people who have worked their whole lives. They named him after the church they were married in. Well, Sophie named him Nicolai. His father called him Nick, and eventually his younger sisters would call him Nico.

Most people called him Nick. Until he decided that name didn't describe him as much as Spot did. That was a different story. Everyone from Brooklyn calls him Spot, and almost always has.

* * *

><p>"Why do they call you Spot?" Anna wanted answers.<p>

"It's a long story, for another day." He looked guilty and almost melancholy. "I promise, eventually I will tell you why I go by Spot." She sighed.

"What are you sisters' names?"

"I can tell you about when my youngest sister was born." He looked wistfully out the window as he began the story.

* * *

><p>He was eight. He already had two sisters, and they already had too many mouths to feed. But his mother was expecting another child, and he prayed for a boy.<p>

His mother was cleaning houses, scrubbing the floors, all while her belly swelled. His father was still working at the docks, perpetually stuck at the bottom. His mother took in clothes to wash and iron on the side to pay to feed all five of them, and try to save enough for a baby. He had worked illegally at the factory, but had gotten fired for dropping a basket of buttons on the floor after tripping over the bolts of fabric lying haphazardly on the floor.

He knew he had to find work. He could let his sisters starve. His sisters, he loved them to the death. He would pretend to be a tough guy, pretend they were just stupid girls in front of the neighborhood boys, but he would have killed for them. He might have, but that is farther ahead in the story.

Margaret, his Maggie, had turned four that summer. Her light brown girls bounced as she walked and her face lit up when she laughed. She was a little mother to Katerina, the youngest. Little Rina with her light hair like their father, and the inclination to sing like him. She always toddled to the door when their father returned from work.

His mother, so young, married at sixteen, had her first child at seventeen, was still as beautiful as his father had described her being on the day they met. Her soft curls, that my sisters had inherited, were always tied back, but found their way into her face as she softly sang in Romanian while stirring the watery soup they had for dinner. Her fierce eyes, her son had been the only one to inherit them, seemed to be smiling when she heard his father's boots on the stairs. Her dress was stretched over her full stomach as if the baby could come any day. She untied her apron, and rushed to greet him at the door. He stood there grinning and kissed her, still as in love with her as ever. He hugged little Maggie and swooped Rina up into his arms. Her giggling grew louder as he pretended to waltz with her. His mother took the soup off the stove, and over to the worn table and started pouring bowls for them. Everyone sat to enjoy their meager meal. As soon as he raised the spoon to his mouth, his mother gasped in pain.

"Sophie? _Mo ghrá_ Are you all right?" His father rushed over to his wife, concerned.

"I'm fine I swe-" Her hands flew to her stomach and she grimaced.

"No you're not, is it coming?" He whispered to her.

She nodded.

"Nick, bring your sisters up to the Gallaghers' and then run down and get your aunt and grandmother." He looked pained himself. "And make haste, go lad, go!"

"Maggie, Rina, let's go up to see Maeve and Mrs. Gallagher, come on." He grabbed his sister's hand and herded them both up the rickety stairs to the Gallaghers' apartment.

The Gallaghers were the neighbors upstairs and the closest friends they had. Mrs. Lily Gallagher's brother had been friends with his father but Fitz had been killed in an accident on the docks before Maggie was born. He sort of remembered him. Mrs. Gallagher had been born in Brooklyn, but her husband had come from Ireland like Tommy. Mr. Gallagher worked at the docks, just like everybody else. He was a large hulking man, with a menacing look, but a kind soul. They had two older sons, but they were almost always working. Their youngest was Maeve, the best girl Nick had ever met, and that was saying something.

Maeve had many freckles, and just as many quick responses. She had been described as fiery by old Mrs. O'Malley from downstairs. He just knew she was interesting.

"Heya Nick." Maeve greeted as soon as he knocked on their apartment door.

"Heya Gallagher, my da said to bring the girls up here and tell your mother that she's needed downstairs." Maeve's bright green eyes widened in surprise. She quickly took Rina's hand and shuffled Maggie inside their cramped apartment.

"Mama! Mrs. Conlon needs you straight away!" She turned and yelled to her mother, and quickly turned back to him.

"Come in, come in, you can stay here."

"Nah, I can't, I gotta get to my aunt's and tell her but I'll be back lickety-split ok?" She smiled reassuringly.

"See you soon knucklehead." He grinned as he ran down the stairs, down the street and straight to his aunt Alina's apartment.

"_Tanti_ Alina?" My mama, she said it's time and she needs you straight away and _bunică _should come too." His aunt with her wild, out of control hair, and kind eyes was a widow, who lived with his elderly grandmother. She had sponsored her mother and sister to come to America, after she had married a man here. But her husband has died of pneumonia, leaving her childless and alone.

She gasped and quickly threw a thin shawl over her bony shoulders at his words. "Nicolai, please wake up your _bunică _and help her over." She dashed out the door, hurrying to his ailing mother. He crept into the apartment and tiptoed over to the small bed where his grandmother was resting.

"_Bunică? _It's me Nicolai, my mother's going to have the baby, please wake up." He whispered as he lightly shook her awake.

""_Copil? Copil?_ Nicolai _trebuie sa ne,_ _grabă grabă_." She swung her legs off of the bed, slowly stood up, and grabbed a kerchief, tying it under her chin. He helped her lace up her boots and they set off into the cold day. He walked slowly, his arm in his grandmother's vice grip as he avoided the sheets of ice and glittering snowdrifts from the most recent storm that had not had the chance to soil and turn black with grit. His grandmother was silent, but visably flustered. He knew little Romanian, she knew little English, and the language and age barriers prevented conversation.

He helped his grandmother up to their apartment, the first thing he heard upon entering the building was his mother screaming. His father was out on the landing, smoking a cigarette, leaned up against the dingy wall. He winced sharply every time his wife cried out in pain. Nick ran up to haven that was the Gallaghers after dropping his grandmother off. He knocked loudly, the door flew open and Maeve dashed out, grabbed his arm and dragged him back down the stairs.

"Hey! Girlie? Where are we going? Where youse bringing me?"

"My da sent me on errand, don't worry your sisters are with my mama. Come on you don't want to be here, do ya? She smiled back at him as she continued to drag him down past the front door and into the chilly February air.

* * *

><p>"Is that why your favorite color is bright green? Because of Maeve?"<p>

"Hush now, stop interrupting, whatdida I tell ya?" The older man joked.

She slyly smiled, because he had revealed he had loved someone.

He sighed.

* * *

><p>When they got back several hours later, frozen and exhausted and finally down with the made up errands, the first thing they heard was screaming. But this was a different screaming, not his mother's but a new scream, a baby's. Maeve looked at him, her eyes twinkling.<p>

"Sounds like you have a new baby sister." He was already halfway up the stairs when he yelled back at her

"A sister? It's a boy, crazy." She rolled her eyes up at him, and skipped up the stairs. When he reached the landing, his father was still leaning up against the wall smoking, but now it was a cigar, and he was grinning. Mr. Gallagher was standing next to him.

"Maeve's right, boy." He grinned wider. "It's a girl."

"Why are you grinning so much then?" A disappointed Nick questioned.

"You'll see, she's so beautiful." Both he and Maeve pushed their way past his father into the apartment. His mother was lying on her bed, her hair tied back with a red scarf, and she was holding a bundle in her arms.

"Nicolai, come see your sister." She whispered. He tip-toed carefully over to the bed, careful not to disturb the baby's calm. _My father was right, this baby is beautiful,_ he thought. Her head was already covered in soft black ringlets. He barely noticed Maeve's gasp when the baby opened her eyes.

They were the most wonderful shade he had ever seen. Sea foam green. It reminded him of the ocean on a bright summer day, something you don't see in February.

"Her name is Anya."

He was almost glad it wasn't a boy. Almost.

"That's why it changes!" Anna gasped.

"Two most important girls in my life." He smiled shyly. Anna grinned back, jotting down the name of his youngest sister. "You almost have the same name." Her grin turned to a soft smile, reminding him of Anya.

* * *

><p>Please give me suggestions, comments, and love<p> 


	4. Chapter 3

"What was your first job, your favorite job and your last job?" Anna questioned.

"Well my first job was shining shoes, and my last job was working in my hardware store." Spot looked wistfully at his calloused hands. "I've worked many jobs over my lifetime, but my favorite would be my second." He rubbed at the ring on his left hand, and put his rough hands back in his lap before taking a deep breath.

* * *

><p>He was nine and a half. His mother was very sick, but no one knew exactly what was wrong with her, they couldn't afford a real doctor. She had been weak since Anya had been born. His aunt Alina ran off out west with a new husband, bringing her mother along with her. His mother was devastated, letters are not the same as having family in Brooklyn.<p>

His father is a mess. A small girl comes to their door and timidly tells his mother that she has been replaced and they no longer need her. He decides to take a walk.

The November air bites his cheeks as he stumbles down the street, looking for any possible way to make money. He brings his shoe polish kit, hoping for at least a few customers, enough to buy bread for his sisters. He walks to a nicer section of Brooklyn, up by Bay Ridge, where the people have maids and glossy shoes. He makes a total of ten cents working for hours in the bitter cold.

"SHOE SHINE, ANYONE NEED A SHOE SHINE! This November muck'll seep in your shoes, I'll get 'em clean in no time, SHOE SHINE!" He shouted, starting a coughing fit. His small body shook as he coughed, silently praying he did not have what his mother did. He spotted a swank meandering down the street, a gold watch hanging from one of his pockets.

"Mister, need a shoe shine?" He looked the boy up and down, taking in his dirty hands, his bare bootless feet, and his threadbare coat.

"Sure kid, but you should be doing something that requires a bit more acting, from what I've seen you have quite the knack for it." He offered a small smile. "Try selling newspapers." Nick looked up from the man's shoes.

"Newspapers? That's not acting, and it doesn't make much."

"Sure it does, I started out selling papes and now I own my own theater."

"Really?" The boy looked at him with wonder in his blue eyes.

"What have you made today?"

"Five cents." The boy bowed his head back to the man's shoes, ashamed.

"That'll buy you ten papes, just save until you can buy a hundred a day, maybe more."

"Oh, I'm done mister." He handed the boy a dollar. "I don't have the change for this mister." He handed it back to the man.

"Keep it, buy some boots of your own to shine, and take my advice." He smiled again. "Selling papes, it's all acting, and you're a natural if I ever saw one."

"Thanks, mister." The words faded on his lips. The man was gone.

* * *

><p>"So, that's how I became a newsy."<p>

"What's a newsy?"

"Well, you asked about the best job I ever had right?" Anna nodded. "Well, a newsy sells papes, and I was about the best newsy there ever was." He chuckled. "Not to brag of course."

"Was it fun? Did you make more? Did you help your mother?"

"It was some of the best times of my life, and the hardest. I made about fifty cents a day, on a good day. And no, I didn't help my mother enough. Not enough to save her…" His voice dropped off. _It wasn't enough. _Anna sensed he didn't want to tell her what had happened. Not yet.

"How did get the job then?" She wondered, causing him to grin.

* * *

><p>He slaps the money on the table, all $1.02, which was a lot back then, mind you.<p>

His mother gasps, bringing on a small coughing fit. His father looks at him warily. He hands his sisters each a penny roll he bought on the long walk back to Williamsburg.

"Thanks Nico." Maggie smiles as she watches Rina eat her roll happily and slowly nibbles her own.

"Thanks, Nico." Rina says with a mouth stuffed with bread. He smiles back.

"Nick, how did you get this money?" His father asks accusingly. He puts his shoe polish kit on the table.

"Shining shoes, Da."

"Nicolai, you better not have stolen that, not even for food. I will not have a liar or a thief in this home." His mother says hoarsely from the bed.  
>"I didn't I swear Mama, this swank came up, I shined his shoes and he hands me a whole dolla, I goes to give him change and he's gone!" His father walks to the table and smiles.<p>

"Good job lad." He puts his large hand on his son's shoulder. The boy remembers grinning back. His mother coughs, there is blood. The hand comes off his shoulder. He remembers what the swank said.

"Da, I think I'ma sell newspapers, I'll make a bit more than shining shoes."

"Sounds good Nick." His father murmurs, but he's not looking at his son. He's looking at his wife with a tortured look on his face, as if he's the one who's dying.

"Sophie, _mo ghra_, I'll work overtime, anything, we'll get you a doctor, I promise..." Nick sits down on the make-shift cot he shares with his sisters, knowing this conversation is not for him. He rubs his toes, trying to get feeling to come back to them. "I promise, _mo ghra_, I promise."

He blows out the candle, and falls into a restless sleep, thinking about tomorrow and listening to his mother's cough worsening and his father's calming whispers in gaelic.

* * *

><p>He is up before dawn. He slowly pull his pants over his union suit. He buttons his only shirt over it, and tucks it into his pants. The pants are hand-me-downs from Johnny Gallagher, and they were much too big. But he doesn't have anything to hold them up. He pulled his thin grey coat on slowly, still only half awake. He quietly tiptoes to the door, trying his best not to wake anyone in the small room.<p>

"Nico." He hears a sleepy little voice whisper behind him.

"Yes?" He slowly turns around to find Rina sitting up on their cot.

"Good luck." She whispers. Then her face lights up in the biggest smiles, a typical one for his angelic sisters. Her bright smile matches her light hair and her vibrant personality. He grins back and kneels down, holding his arms out. She toddled over and gives him a hug.

"Thanks Rina." She smiles back up at him. "Now go back to sleep." She stumbles back and crawls in next to Maggie and Anya. He closes the door softly behind him.

He bounds down the stairs, feeling free because he just knows he's going to sell so many papers, they'll be able to get a great doctor for Mama, books for Maggies, pounds of candy for Rina, pretty ribbons for little Anya's pretty hair, boots for himself and pants that fit.

He is jolted out of his dream, by nearly crashing headfirst into Maeve Gallagher running up the stairs.

"Hey there girlie, watch where you're going." She just glares back at him, and then dissolves into giggles. "Hey why are you out this early?" He asks confused.

"It's a secret." She said mysteriously and with her green eye twinkling as she laughs.

"You are a strange one Maeve Gallagher." She continued to chuckle to herself as she slipped up the stairs and out of sight, leaving him to shake his head in disbelief.

* * *

><p>He walked to the distribution office he had seen the newsies swarm to every morning. He has ten cents in his pocket, he fingers it cautiously in his pocket. He hopes to make a lot more. He walks up to the window to buy his papers.<p>

"How many?" An elderly man questions in a bored tone without looking at him.

"Umm, I have ten cents here, so how many papers can I get with that?" The man finally looks at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Twenty papes, you new or something kid?"

"Yes." He mumbles.

"Well, take your twenty papes first off, and you talk to Dice yet?"

"Why would I be in the habit a talkin' to dice for?"

"Not dice, _Dice. _You better if you don't want a good thrashing kid." He waved the boy away from the window. "Just warning ya." The boy wondered what in the hell the man was talking about when...WHAM he was on the ground, looking up at a giant with his papes scattered all around him

"What are you doing here kid?" He squinted up at the savage yelling at him.

"Selling papers?" He gets up with his fists out, and swiftly punches the kid in gut.

"Oh yeah?" He sneers, not moving an inch. "Who said you can sell papes here?" He swings and punches him in nose, it starts bleeding, and the smaller boy is on the ground again.

"You, get off a'him, you big idiot, leave the kid alone. He ain't done nothing to you." A voice behind the mountain of a human being yelled.

"Sorry Dice, didn't realize you were in love with the kid." The ogre pulled Nick up roughly by his collar.

"Shuddup! You da boss or am I?" The giant was swatted out of the way by a golden cane with another boy who was dwarfed by the ogre, but appeared to be in charge of him. "Hey sorry kid, Titus, he's an oaf sometimes." He offered a hand to Nick who spit shook with him, and then he started picking up the papers off the ground. Nick looks the kid over as he is examined himself. He is not tiny, but of medium build with jet black hair slicked under an equally black hat. He has a menacing black cane with a gold head holstered at his hip. His yellow-brown eyes and tanned skin give him the appearance of a slinking cat. "What's ya name kid?" He hands the boy a handkerchief for his gushing nose.

"Nick Conlon." He says bluntly back, still peeved to have been shoved by this "Titus" kid or maybe man more accurately describes him.

"Dice, leader a' da Brooklyn newsies, at your service." He dramatically bowed at the waist.

"Why's ya name Dice? The boy asked, still not sure about this kid's sanity.

"Because you never know what you're going to get." And with that he creepily grinned.

"Do I need a pass from you or something? Or am I allowed to sell papes while it's still today?" Nick said gathering sass as he grew more confident that Titus would not kill him with his bare hands.

"Hey kid, I like you, so I'm going to show you the ropes of selling papes.

"Think I got it on my own thanks." Dice laughed.

"How old are you kid?"

"Nine, almost ten." Nick shoots back.

"If anyone asks, you're seven. And you'll be selling wit me kid, cause I need a scrawny thing like you to help me sell papes." He leans in to whisper in the boy's ear. "And between you and me, I need to start grooming a replacement, and like I said, I already like you kid." Nick looks at him.

"Fine, but you better be good at selling, I really needs the money." Dice shakes his head, disapprovingly.

"How do you think I became da king a'Brooklyn?"

"By being so full of yourself." Dice just grinned again.

* * *

><p>"So you sold newspapers?" Anna asked.<p>

"Yeah, and it was fun, and I did it for a while." Spot smiles. "That was my favorite job."

"And did you become leader, like Dice wanted?"

"That's later, much later." He changes the subject. "My last job was at the hardware store I opened, that my son now runs." He glances at his watch. "That my troublemaker grandson now works at. But speaking of him, he's late." He looks at the door. As if on command, there's a knock on the door. He shuffles over to the door, revealing a teenage boy carrying a metal tin. "Where have you been, you're late."

"Dad kept me late at the store, then I swung back home to get cookies that Mom made you." He held them out as a peace offering to his grandfather.

"Fine, come sit, I was telling stories." He accepts the cookies and puts the on the table. "Anna, this is my grandson Tommy." Spot notices his grandson's face when he's introduced. Anna takes in his dirty blond hair, it was shaggy. She assumed he was one of those _hippies. _She also noticed that he had the same striking eyes as Spot, as Spot's mother Sofia, they were icy and warm at the same time, and she felt like staring. Instead she lowered her eyes and Spot caught her blushing. "Tommy, this is Anna, she's interviewing me for a school project." The boy smiled.

"You actually got a straight forward story from him? All he tells me are warning stories, don't run with scissors, you'll poke your eye out, don't gamble, you'll end up a broke bookie who owes the mafia. But none of them make any sense." She laughs, it was true, the stories Spot had told her were barely in order. Tommy held his hand out for her to shake, she took it and grinned.

"Hey if I wanted to tell a boring story I would, besides I like telling Anna because she doesn't give the back sass you do." Spot chuckled. "If you wanna stay, and you can keep your mouth shut for five minutes you can stay and hear some. If it's OK with Anna a'course?" They looked at the girl for an answer.

"That sound great." She mumbled shyly.

"So it's settled." Tommy said as he pulled a chair up close to Anna. "What are we talking about?" Anna coughed quietly.

"What's your earliest memory?" She asks.


	5. Chapter 4

He smiled a little bit at the question, his already wrinkled forehead got wrinklier as he thought about his answer. "The dedication of the Statue of Liberty." He answered quietly.

"I am three years old. My father is carrying me in his arms so I will not be trampled by the pressing crowds. It is a clear day, the crisp end of October before it gives way to November. I remember the sharp breeze on my face and the warm hat my mother had knitted for me on my head. My father's long arm points to the great statue looming across the harbor. "Look son!" He hoists me up higher, swinging me onto his shoulders. My small boots rest on his chest. "There is Lady Liberty! She means America, see her big torch? That is guide all the new Americans to their new home." He looks at my mother. She stands next to him, fingering the small key around her neck.

"Nikolai, you are the first to be born in this great country, we came here so you would not feel the _asuprire, dificultate." _She sighed in admiration at the statue. "If only she had been here to welcome us to America." The ticker tape fell from the skies, I had been amazed by it, amazed by all the colors whisking by.

I had looked up at the statue, the color of new, shiny pennies. Forever after I thought of my parents, and my grandparents when I looked at her. When I looked at Lady Liberty, I knew my life would be different from theirs'; I would make something of myself; I would be _somebody_.

The two teenagers just looked at each other. They had grown up with the statue always just being there. They could not wrap their minds around being so old that you were there when it was dedicated. Spot's misty eyed look fell away as he chuckled at their astounded faces.

"Didn't think I was that old huh?"

"I guess not, I never did the math." Anna replied.

"Wow you're old grandpa." Tommy laughed.

"I think that was a nice memory." Anna made up for the rude comment as she scribbled down the story. Tommy looked down at his hands, slightly ashamed for being rude to his grandfather then back up at Anna's blushing face. Spot just laughed at the both of them.

"So what's next, Anna?"

"Umm, I don't know, uhhh?" She shuffled through her papers, searching for her next question.

"How about I just tell some stories and we'll see where we end up huh?" She nods, not realizing his grandson is basically staring at her, and not paying any attention to Spot. Spot grins at the boy before continuing.

* * *

><p>"Nick?"<p>

"Yeah?"

"Take a walk with me? I have to bring my da his lunch."

"I can't girlie, I gots to sell the evening edition 'sides Dice has some ting for me to do."

"You're no fun you know? You spend all your time selling newspapers and doing this Dice character's bidding. How you ever supposed to get a girl if you're never available to even take a walk with one" Maeve grinned with an evil glint in her eye. Her father's lunch all tied up with twine swings from her fingers as she stands at the door to his apartment. He comes out and closes the door as not to disturb his sleeping mother.

"We're only ten! Besides who needs a girl when I got you? She dodges me while I pretend to try and kiss her.

"Nikolai Conlon, you are a bastard." It's my turn to grin.

"That's not how a lady speaks." I mimicked her earlier uppity attitude.

"Shove off." She gets up and goes to walk away, her skirts swinging.

"Fine, I'll walk you, ya crank. I still gots to sell my papes." She laughs because she knew I would relent. She shouldn't be walking that far alone, not in that part of Brooklyn anyway.

I run to catch up with her because she's already half way down the stairs.

"Mama?" I whisper over her shallow, raspy breathing. She coughs in her sleep, it wracks her whole body and frightens me. Her eyes slowly open.

"Oh, Nicolai, come here." She looks at me with eyes half open and beckons me to the bed. I tiptoe to her bed, with the eerie feeling that I'm walking on a grave. "Take this." She murmurs as she struggles to get the ragged ribbon over her head, shakily offering the key to me that she had been wearing around her neck as long as I can remember.

"Mama what is the key for?" I question softly.

"The old country, the door, grandfather." She is delirious as she closes her eyes and slips back to sleep. I am shaking with fear and I am shaking with anger that I cannot do anything to ease her suffering. I slip the ragged ribbon over my own head, fingering the key, warm from being around my mother's feverish neck. I stand up and the key falls over my heart. I smooth out my mother's quilt, humming a short prayer for her health as I slide out of the apartment and off to sell the afternoon edition, checking on my sisters on the stoop as I pass.

I am ten and a half. My mother has died. It is my fault, I didn't work hard enough to get a doctor, we never had enough food for her, or my sisters. I am mad at myself, I am mad at God. I am mad at my father. I am furious at everything.

My father shuts himself off. He sits in a chair in the kitchen, staring at the wall, with a glass gripped in his hand, filled with whiskey, undrunk. He's never been a drinker. He refuses to look at me. I think it's the eyes that hurt him the most.

Maggie is six, Rina four and half, little Anya is two. I am their parents.

I don't ask about the key.

I don't cry. Not as they lower the simple coffin into the ground. Not when Rina sobs into my leg. Not when they slowly shovel cold dirt into the grave. Not even when Anya asks when Mama will be home and Maggie looks at me to explain but I just shake my head.

Mrs. Gallagher takes the girls for me. I need to take a walk. I want so very badly to be alone for once. I slowly walk down the street, barely noticing my surroundings.

"Nick?" I look up. It's Maeve, she has followed me. She says nothing else, just holds her hand out to me, and when I look up at her and back down to her hand I realize that I don't want to be alone at all. I take her hand, she gives mine a squeeze.

Maeve lets me wander, without speaking. Just having someone there is comforting, not that I'd admit I needed her, but I did.

We eventually end up at the docks. We sit with our legs dangling down, our toes almost touch the water.

"Nick?" She whispers for the second time. Her eyes meet mine. I quickly look away, hiding my tired eyes. We lie down on our backs, still holding hands.

"What are you going to _do_?" She says so quietly I can barely hear it over the rush of the water.

"I don't know." Even I can hear the fear in my voice.

Three months later not much had changed. I was selling constantly, working my way into good favor with Dice. My father was working a lot as well, but was distracted which caused him to injure his arm, putting him out of work for a month. Somehow I managed to feed us with my pape money.

I save a little for Christmas presents that year. I buy Maggie a dime book of fairy tales, a tiny doll for Rina, and a new dress for Anya, who had worn her last one out learning to walk.

Maeve and I also saved a little for each other. Me from selling, and her from her sewing work at which she had amazing skill.

She hands me a box.

"Merry Christmas,

I look at her in disbelief.

"I know, it's OK, I made them myself."

I open the box. Red suspenders.

"To keep your pants up." She smiles wistfully. "I know that Johnny's don't fit, you're so skinny." She teases.

"Thanks, girlie." I grin.

I hand her my present, it's wrapped in penny tissue paper. She carefully unwraps it saving the paper. An emerald hair ribbon falls out.

"It's so beautiful." She whispers. It is not silk, it is cheap fabric. She loves it anyways because it matches her eyes.

She hugs me. I hug back.

We're both smiling so much our cheeks hurt.

A year later not much had changed. My father is still distant. He barely speaks to us, let alone dance with the girls when he comes home from work as he did when my mother was still alive. Anya will never know a happy father. My mother's death took everything away from us, including him. He does not drink, he never has, he just stays silent, and thinks with his eyes looking out the window instead of at us.

Little Maggie, only seven, has learned how to cook from Maeve, and with help from Mrs. Gallagher, cooks dinner each night. I feel guilty but I have to sell the evening edition until late. I make sure to give her a kiss on the head goodnight when I come home each night so she knows how good she is.

When I come home one night, and my father is not in his chair staring out at the window, I fear the worst. I tuck the girls in, ask Mrs. Gallagher to look out for them and I search for hours in the dark night. I check the docks, alleys, and even bars even though I know he will not be there. He does not drink. I return home as the the skies lighten to check on the girls and change into my only other shirt. I do not go to sleep before I leave to sell the morning papes.

When I come home on the break between morning and afternoon, I find a cop sitting with my sisters on the stoop, listening intently to Rina explain the current fantasy they are playing where she is a princess, Maggie is a fairy godmother and Anya is loyal servant. I don't know where she gets these ideas, but I did know when I saw the cop that my father was dead.

His face when Anya lifted her arms up to me as I walked up the stairs to pick her up just confirmsit.

"Are you Thomas Conlon's son?" I nod solemnly, Anya on my hip. "I'm sorry boy, but..." I silence him with a hand. He looks at the girls knowingly. I shoo my sisters upstairs into the apartment before turning to face him.

"How?" I say quietly.

"Two men jumped him on his way home, fought them off for a while according to a witness, a young boy that he fought them off of who got away, we found him about midnight, and tried to come by this morning but your sisters said you were working." I nod once more. "How old are you boy?"

"Eleven." He shakes his head silently.

"Where's your mother?"

"She's visiting my grandmother out west, she'll be back soon." I lie smoothly.

"Alright. I will let you tell her then. You can come to pick up the body at the morgue within the week then." I nodd, turning towards the front door. "I'm real sorry kid. I really am. I know how it feels, lost my own da when I was a little older than you." He shakes his head again. "Those sisters of yours are lovely little girls." He grimaces. I smile a weak smile at his complement.

"I know." He nods, turning and walking away as I close the apartment building door on the image of his back slowly making its way down the street.

The girls are waiting when I get in.

"Why did he leave? He was a nice man." Rina says indignant at my making her new playmate leave.

"He was here to tell us about da." I kneel down as they crowd around me, even little Anya is listening. "You girls know how Mama left?" They all nod, curls bouncing around their faces. "Well, now da's gone with her, and they are going to be happy together again." Rina gasps.

"Why Nico, why did Daddy want to leave us, when are they coming back?" I shake my head, gulping to keep from crying.

"He didn't want to leave, he had to, you won't see Da for a long time, but he was very brave ." She made a face, and became angry. Little Anya did not understand and went to pick up Rina's doll, hugging it to her toddler belly. Only Maggie knew what this meant. She sat on her cot, and hid her face from me as her shoulders silently shook. I went over and rubbed circles into her back. I never cried. I couldn't.

I am eleven years old and an orphan with three sisters.


End file.
